


hot as day

by zealotarchaeologist



Category: SOMA (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Gen, everything is fine, no really seriously everything is fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 16:12:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5254826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zealotarchaeologist/pseuds/zealotarchaeologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pleasant temperature, clean air, good weather. The ARK is still a work in progress, but it's not so bad when you have company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hot as day

**Author's Note:**

> pure self-indulgent happy fic.

They’re down by the small river today, even though the environment has expanded in the last few months to include much bigger, lusher forests. But Simon always seems to be drawn back to where he first woke up. Catherine doesn’t understand it, but she knows how he is. Always so grounded in his past.

The weather is warm and sunny, like it almost always is (aside from the scheduled days for those who like rain) so they relax in shorts and tank tops. Catherine enjoys the feeling of the simulated sun and air on her skin as she works. She sits on the bank and jots down notes, dips her toes in the water from time to time. Occasionally she ducks to avoid a splash from Simon’s direction.

He looks happy. She’s glad he’s still able to enjoy the water. Catherine gets her enjoyment from observing, making notes on how the physics of the water is holding up, if the ripples are accurate where he steps. How fast the water flows and if it flows consistently. Simon wades over to her and lies down, letting the sun dry out his clothes.

“What are you up to, anyway?”

“Collecting data. We need an ecosystem.” She responds distantly, still fixated on the rushing water.

“You know you could just pop in some robot dogs and I’d be happy.”

“It needs to be realistic. We figured we’d start with what we know, so…fish.”

He frowns in response. “Please leave some space fish-free for me. I’ve had enough of them.”

“Of course. One ocean, fishless, coming right up.” Simon rolls his eyes at her.

Catherine reclines so they’re laying parallel to each other and starts to scribble out incomprehensible notes, train of thought ideas that she’ll make sense of later.

“...you’re designing fish, aren’t you.”

“I swear on my life, Simon, they will be strictly not carnivorous fish.”

“Fine. Better make them look like normal fish, too. If I see anything glow, I’m out.”

“Duly noted. Writing it down right now, see…” Catherine rolls to the side and braces her notebook against him. Simon ignores it for the moment, already planning how he’s going to reach over and splash her as soon as she puts her notes away.

 

 

It’s approximately a month before they end up on another fish-related outing, with Catherine claiming she needs both moral and scientific support. She’s armed with a metallic net that looks more like it would have belonged on the station than in this idyllic scene.

When Simon looks into the river, it is clear that she has indeed successfully generated virtual fish. Three of them, to be exact, silvery bodies flashing under the water.

“What the fuck,” he says, “you coded a species.”

“I barely did any of the work.” Catherine responds, nonchalantly. “It was mostly Frost and the biologists from Omicron. I just made sure the final product was sound.”

“Alright, fine. You guys still did it.”

“ _Maybe_ did it. This is sort of uncharted territory. We’ve got to test it, see if it behaves the way an organic wild animal would.”

“And how exactly do we test a digital fish?”

She grins. “We’re going fishing.”

Only, as it turns out, neither of them knows the first thing about fishing. Their strategy so far mostly consists of Simon doing his best to stomp around upstream and scare the fish towards Catherine as she repeatedly swings the net and misses.

To the fishes’ credit, they are indeed behaving as fish should. Which is to say they are both quick and uncooperative.

“Keep trying!” Simon calls out in an attempt to be encouraging. “They’re bound to get tired soon, right?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Catherine responds, looking miserable and soaked up to her knees, “Since they’re _virtual fish_.”

They meet in the middle and switch roles. Simon swings the net a few times to get a sense for it, and then they get back to work.

This turns out to be even less effective. Catherine is too small for the fish to take notice of her unless she actually kicks out at the water, drenching herself in the process. And Simon can’t seem to swing the net without splashing himself in the face. After maybe an hour of this, they agree to take a break.

Catherine wades back to the bank and grabs her tablet from her bag. She sends a message for backup as fast as her wet fingers will allow, frowning every time the pressure doesn’t register.

Simon is about to follow her lead, but one of the silvery bodies streaks by his leg and on impulse he grabs for it. His fingers touch slick scales for an instant—and before he knows it he’s face down in the water.

“Simon!” Catherine is saying in distress as she struggles over to him. “Oh my god, _Simon_.” He makes it to his knees and takes the hand she offers him, only to splash her even more as he stands up.

By the time they’re both firmly on dry ground, even the warm sunlight can’t save their clothes. Or Catherine’s hair, which is starting to tangle in the front.

Imogen Reed, ever their savior, arrives a few minutes later bearing towels. She tries to restrain herself from laughing at Catherine’s drowned-cat look as she wraps herself in the fluffy cloth.

“So,” she tries, “do you two want to explain what the hell happened here?”

“Fishing.” They groan in unison, and apparently that’s the final straw for Imogen. Laughing, she grabs the net from Simon.

Imogen happens to be an excellent fisher.

 

 

The sun falls across Imogen’s eyes, stirring her from her heat soaked daze. She hadn’t really been asleep, but she hadn’t been particularly awake either. Last thing she remembers is lying down in the grass with Catherine’s head against her shoulder—Catherine who is now conspicuously absent.

She sits up, blinks, dips a hand into the river to splash some water on her face. It’s refreshing on the unusually hot day.

Catherine is standing in the shallow water, up to her shins in it, fixated on something beneath the surface. When Imogen looks closer, she can see what it is: a school of silvery fish, the sun reflecting off their scales. She seems completely mesmerized by them. Turned away, she still hasn’t noticed that Imogen is awake.

Silent and with slow movements, Imogen grabs the notepad that Catherine left abandoned on the bank. She flips open to a random page and starts to draw. None of it comes out quite right. She’s never been particularly great at drawing. She can’t capture the way the light hits Catherine’s hair just so, or the way the water ripples around her legs, but she manages to preserve something of the moment.

It’s rare to see Catherine like this, letting herself be proud of the world she made and is still making.

Finally she looks up, suddenly aware that she’s being watched. Imogen tucks the notebook behind her as she makes her way over, smiling.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. What are _you_ doing?” she retorts, because Catherine has her hands slyly hidden behind her back. She smiles again and reveals one of the white lilies that grow plentifully along the bank. With extreme care, she slips it behind Imogen’s ear. For a moment she doesn’t care that this isn’t quite the real world and she’s not quite the real Imogen. At least she knows that she’s loved.

She pulls Catherine back down into the grass, just like how they started. The heat makes contact a little less comfortable than usual, but she doesn’t mind. It actually makes her feel kind of human.

“How do you feel about winter?” Catherine asks, seemingly out of nowhere. But Imogen knows her—her non sequiturs are usually just her mouth struggling to catch up with her brain.

“How do I feel about it? The season?”

“Yeah.” She responds, curling up closer. “As in, should we implement it?”

“Hm. It might be nice to have snow for a change.”

Catherine closes her eyes and hums in agreement. The sun falls across them in dappled patterns, charted by an unseen algorithm.

Imogen decides she doesn't mind the neverending summer.


End file.
